Musings from the Trail

What if bear bells work in a sort of Pavlovian way, letting the bears know there’s food nearby?  Also those people feeling protected would be pretty disappointed.

When two people walk down the trail together, do four legged animals think it sounds like another four legged animal?

There are only so many ways to say hello to people you pass on the trail.  If I’ve already gone through the rotation a couple of times, or if I’m going uphill, I am likely to grunt or nod, at most.  Don’t be offended.

Trail distance is different from regular distance.  It’s usually something like “It’s five miles to the lake.  How far do you think we’ve gone already?”  “I dunno, must be nearly two miles by now.  Oh, here’s a sign!  Let’s look.”  [Distance to lake: 4.3 miles] “DAMMIT.”

Dads are awesome.  I like how the whole family trips down the trail, unencumbered by so much as a water bottle, while the dad brings up the rear with a 40 lb. pack full of everything from camera to Capri Sun, from swimsuits to sunglasses, hats, snacks, bandaids, jackets, an amputation saw, and the kitchen sink.  It’s really not fair.

Whatever you do not bring with you on this hike – bug repellant, hat, bandanna, knife, tissue, antibac, notepad, cell phone, poncho – will be the thing you need.  Guaranteed.

No matter how deserted the trail is, if you step into the bushes to pee, it will become rush hour.

If you want pictures, take them on the way up (or down).  You are not going to stop on the way back, even if you remember.

The view at the top is always, always “worth it.”

An Avett Kind of Wisdom

Ain't it like most people

I'm no different

We love to talk on things we don't know about.

When I first heard this song, I thought Yeah.  That's so true - people shooting off their mouths about all kinds of random things when they have no idea what they're talking about.  And it's true that I do this too, although I try to be at least somewhat informed about the things I hold opinions on.  And I do try to listen to opposing opinions on a subject (unless someone's just out-and-out wrong.  I'm not going to listen to a person talk about why someone deserved to get raped because of what he/she was wearing, or how some people shouldn't get married because Reasons).  Especially with politics, it seems like a lot of people have opinions that may or may not be fact-based.

But after listening to the song 563791 times, and listening to other songs and interviews by the band, I decided he meant something different by these words.  I think what he's saying here is, a lot of people like to talk on things they don't know about so that they can learn.  We love to talk on things we don't know about so that we can hear other people's opinions, gather information, maybe go home and Google some stuff.  Once people get out of school, it seems like the way they learn is mostly by talking to other people, or sometimes listening to the news or reading a website.  But talking allows for an exchange of ideas that can't be had through those other mediums.  When I see my kids years later, or they write in a card or a memory book, mostly what they'll remember are discussion we've had.  Why do people join book clubs?  To talk about books they've read/loved.  Why do people say "You have to see this movie"?  Because they want to talk about it!

Now, you might say, "Well if they read the book/saw the movie/whathaveyou, then they're not talking about things they don't know about.  They're talking about things they do know about."  And that's true to an extent, but it's a very boring conversation if all someone is saying is "Yeah, remember when X happened?!  Yeah, that was awesome!"*  So a lot of times it's people asking about things that didn't make sense, backstories they're not familiar with, actors they haven't seen before, and on and on.

So next time you think someone is talking out their backside, going on and on about things they don't know about, speak up.  Add in what you do know about the subject, or join in the general wonderment if you don't know anything about it either.  It doesn't hurt to ask questions; you might even learn something.

Ain't it like most people

I'm no different

I love to think about random things while mowing the lawn.

(This is why Scott Avett is a very successful songwriter and I haven't blogged in two years.)

*This is a nod to the Chris Farley show.  You young whippersnappers should look for it on YouTube if the NBC Fascists haven't blocked it.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

A girl I know told this story the other day:

There was a guy who had been following me around for days. I tried to gently let him know that I was not interested in him, but he didn't seem to get the message. (NOTE: How often has this happened to you? I never know whether to admire the guy for his persistence or curse him for his density.) Finally, I got tired of trying to avoid him, so I told him, "Look, I can't go out with you. I'm a hermaphrodite." I thought for sure that would solve the problem, either because he'd be so disgusted by this (false) piece of information, or because he would realize that I was inventing something as a brush-off. But instead, he came right back with, "So? I'm a Catholic. What's religion got to do with it?"

While I laugh at this story, I have to agree with his question: What's religion got to do with it? Why do people have to argue so much about something that, when you get right down to it, is just a personal choice? You might as well wage war over whether someone wears skinny jeans or wears their hair long. There is no way to know, definitively, whether one religion is "right" or not, and when you think about it, most of the world's major religions have more commonalities than differences.

I realize that some people think they're doing a service by wanting to see a friend or loved one after death, or cleansing the world of "unbelievers," but really, is that your business? I don't know anyone who is so together that they have room to be fixing other people's lives (and if you do, don't tell me. It will only depress me). So how about this? Let's find some common ground with people - sit down over a cup of coffee, an ice cream cone, a chess game, an excellent haiku, a beautiful sunset...whatever. And agree to disagree on the rest. I'm not really interested in some "Resistance is futile" Borgian world where everyone thinks exactly alike, and I'd appreciate it if people could stop attacking (physically, verbally, etc.) those who don't believe exactly the same thing they do. So go forth, and love. Or at least don't hate.

Never Forget

I remember driving to work that Tuesday morning. I was running late, and when I was about a mile from the office I heard the announcement on the radio that a plane had crashed into the WTC. My first thought was that it was some sort of fluke, like when that private plane hit the Empire State building. As I was walking in the door, the second tower was hit. No one was at the front desk, no one was in their office. Every employee was gathered around the television in the kitchen, watching in disbelief.

I remember calling my mom and telling her she needed to turn the TV on. She had just gotten out of the shower and hadn't heard anything yet. I couldn't even tell her what was happening - there were no words. I just said "Turn it on" and hung up.

I remember the rumors, and the awful waiting of the next hour or two: reports that the White House had been hit, reports that there was a car bomb at the Pentagon. Reports that there could be as many as ten, twenty more planes in the sky that would be used as weapons. Advice that people avoid gathering in large groups, and that we all collect emergency rations "just in case." A rumor that one of the planes had taken off from Dallas. My daddy was working at the airport at that time, and was also Air Force reserve, so I called him to see if he had any information and to make sure everything was alright out there.


I remember wondering what sort of horrible people could have planned this. I knew Osama bin Laden had done a lot of bad things, but this...this was beyond evil. I was so angry to know that somewhere in the world there were people who were happy, celebrating this horrific event. I knew it would change our world, but I had no idea how much would change, and how every one of us would feel a little less safe, and think of some people just a little differently - as either heroes or monsters - after this day.

I remember the announcement that every single plane in the air was being order to land immediately, wherever they were, and that any plane that didn't risked being shot down. This sent a lot of people to the phones to check on relatives that were traveling or friends in the airline industry. That's one of my most vivid memories of that day - people constantly on the phone, reaching out to friends and family to try to make some collective sense out of the senseless.

I remember that about the time the first tower collapsed, people started leaving to pick up their kids from school. The news alternated between footage of NY, Washington, and local (we didn't find out about the fourth plane for awhile, as I remember it), and the local news was saying that schools would release any kids whose parents came for them. I can't imagine being a kid, or a teacher, on that day. School is all about routine and normalcy, and September 11,2001 was the most non-normal day I have ever lived through.

I remember that not long after the second tower collapsed, a couple came in to the office to choose some tile, and were irritated that there was no one to help them. Our receptionist asked them "Haven't you seen the news? Planes hit the World Trade Center and they have fallen, killing thousands of people." And the wife said "That? That happened hours ago! People need to get over it. We have a life, you know!" I just thought how sad and disgusting that reaction was, and how people like that were what made other countries hate Americans.

I remember seeing Ashleigh Banfield, a local reporter who had made it to one of the national news stations, huddled in a stairwell only a block or two from Ground Zero (as they were already calling it), and she was absolutely covered in ash - even her eyelashes were coated. Everything was grey, and she was coughing to the point that she could barely speak. It looked like she was reporting from a war zone. I guess in a way, she was.

I remember going to the doctor that afternoon, where the TV was on, and how when I got home all we did for hours was sit and watch looped footage and listen to talking heads who had no more idea what was happening than we did. I think at that point, we were still hoping and expecting that they would find at least some survivors in the rubble of the collapsed buildings. I had never been to New York, never seen the size of those buildings, and didn't think about the effects of burning jet fuel coupled with the hundreds of tons of concrete. I think it was days before I gave up hope that they would pull any more bodies, living or dead, from that pile.


I remember wondering what I would have done, if I'd worked in one of the towers and survived the first strike. Would I have been brave enough to help rescue coworkers? Would I have bolted for the stairs, or tried to stay behind to find out what was happening, or gather my things? Would I have tried to make it down alive, or had that horrible realization that I was trapped, and gone out the window, as some did?

I remember what a long time it was before I could see a plane flying over downtown, or a college campus or a sports stadium, and not feeling a twinge of worry.

And one of the things I remember most was the way people changed. For weeks, people were kinder and gentler to neighbors, friends and strangers. They spoke more softly. They thought of others. They made donations and attended memorials and bought red-white-and-blue everything. I wonder where that spirit went? Have people forgotten? Is it unimportant now that the economy is bad and the weather is unpredictable and the biggest legacy of 9/11 is the security line at the airport? How many people agree with my sister, who told me the other day "I wish we could skip Sept. 11. I just don't feel like rehashing the whole thing."

9/11 changed me. I have a more global view of US policies. I am both more and less tolerant of differences now; more-so because I realize that extremists (of any kind) do not define a nation or a religion, but less because I feel that you don't have to believe the same way I do, but that does not give you the right to kill me or attack my country because of that disagreement. Some days I am less than proud to be an American, but I still cry at the national anthem. And I still think that September 11 is an important day. We NEED to "rehash the whole thing." Because we should Never Forget.

If you have time, please leave your 9/11 memories in the comments section. I have a scrapbook that I put together ten years ago, and I would like to update it with stories from other people in other places.

Super Zeroes

We went to see Captain America last night (it was really good, BTW). We haven't seen any of the super hero movies lately because they all look the same, based on the previews, but CA was fresh and interesting. Good performances without the big names. Anyway, I was surprised to see a preview for ANOTHER Spiderman movie. New guy, new girl, but basically the same story.

Is there nothing new under the sun? Can Hollywood not take a character and tell a new story about them, or better yet, come up with a new character? Some of my favorite comic-style movies are ones that are based on obscure stories (like Scott Pilgrim or The Watchmen) or else sort of spoof these other comic movies that take themselves so seriously (yeah, Batman, I'm looking at YOU). So in the spirit of Handi-Man, Kickass and Mystery Men, I offer up some alternative characters for Hollywood's consideration:

Weight Watcher's Woman - This average-sized heroine will serve a dual purpose. On the one hand, she will fight the Temptation, the evil allure of chocolate, ice cream, and fried foods. She will burn Calories, cut Fat, and eliminate Carbs. She will also provide a positive role model for the size 12s, 14s and 16s everywhere, showing that a little stick-sized 0 would be blown away by these hard-to-vanquish villains.

Next is Family Man. He has six hands because he has so much to do. One might hold a hammer, another a diaper bag, a third has the remote. What else could he have? Briefcase, checkbook, frying pan, baseball, kids' drawing, car keys, book, weed eater? Family Man fights a hydra sort of villain that's made up of his job, the economy, bills, home and car repairs, past mistakes, future worries, and a toddler.

And finally, Fashionista (I think we need more female superheroes). She will be a parody of herself, bringing down her nemeses by clocking them with her Jimmy Choos, braining them with her magic Kate spade, or blinding them with Bling. She can do all of this without breaking a nail or getting a hair out of place (due to Super Product).

There. You're welcome, Hollywood. Go write me some new stories.

Roughing it

I grew up camping, and I enjoy it. I have no problem cooking over a fire or camp stove, sleeping on the ground, or peeing in the woods. I have carried a pack roughly a third my own weight, I've gone for a few days with no access to running water (and then showered at a truck stop. No regrets.), and I have gotten so nasty-sweaty-muddy that the Deep Woods OFF! was a joke; no self-respecting bug would have come near me.

In spite of all that, as I get older, I find that camping is losing some of its appeal. Some of that is because there aren't many places you can camp where you aren't surrounded by asshats who don't seem to understand the difference between a National Park and their neighborhood bar. Seriously, one time these guys kept their car engine running for EIGHT HOURS because they had a full-sized computer plugged into the cigarette lighter so they could play video games (obviously this was awhile ago). My point is, while we don't rule out backpacking for a few days, and we incorporate a tent into our road trips, we lean towards creature comforts when we can.

Take this trip, for example. We just got back from New Mexico (cool weather. rain. bliss.). David wanted to take the dogs, so camping was a possibility until they closed the national forest due to fire danger. Hotels traditionally frown on shrieking puppies and shedding pitbulls, so we opted for a cabin. We'd had a good experience with the cabins at Buffalo River last Thanksgiving, so we figured we'd give it a shot. And for what we payed, I was impressed - full kitchen, spotlessly clean, ample room and quiet. The bathroom was tiny; but it had a shower, toilet and sink, so what more do you need, right? The whole atmosphere was relaxing, and just what we needed.

But here's the thing: within fifteen minutes of getting home, I was in the shower. My OWN shower, where I didn't elbow the wall while lathering my hair. Where I could use four kinds of soap and a back brush. Where the water pressure was constant. It's not that the cabin lacked any amenities we needed; it's just that, I guess, there's no place like home. And more than anything else about camping or traveling, I love feeling squeaky clean and sweet smelling. So although we weren't in a four-star hotel on this trip, the roughest thing that came out of it are my heels, from wearing sandals. I'm going soft, caring about rough spots.

Baby, you're a firework

Most of the firework stands around here were shut down this year, because of the fire danger. And when I say "around here," I mean the ones that are 20-30 minutes away, in the rural counties, since in the city fireworks are technically illegal (for more "technically illegal" fireworks fun, go here). We usually go to the one by the farm and get about $20 worth, set off a few, and save the rest for "later." Except later only comes around once every few years, so we pretty much just have a big stash that sits in my closet. Occasionally we’ll get bored and decide to shoot a few off. Of course, we have the old favorites like roman candles and fountains and spinners and whatever, but every once in awhile we try something new.

You know how firework stands always have those specials - buy 10, get 10 free, or buy 2 boxes of these cool things and get 2 boxes of things we can’t get rid of? So one year I did that, and I ended up with 2 boxes of...some kind of missile. I say 2 boxes, but they were really just 2 individual fireworks. I mean, you couldn’t just pull one out and light it, you had to light the box, and there were like 16 or 20 missile-looking things in there. It didn’t really say what they did, and we figured it was just a bunch of loud poppers, like lighting a bunch of M80s. (I know, the "missile" shape really should have tipped us off, but it didn’t. Shut up.) Loud popping is sort of boring unless you’re trying to scare someone, so these sat in the bag for a few years before we were bored enough to try them.

My husband and I each took a box out front, and figured we’d light them in the middle of the street, which was pretty deserted in terms of traffic, in case there were any sparks that might land on a roof or yard. I had grabbed the aim-n-flame on the way out, so he told me to go ahead & light mine first. It was a short fuse, maybe an inch and a half or so, so I lit it and backed up pretty quickly. When it got to the box, there was a loud POP, pretty much like we’d thought, but then something launched way up in the air with the loudest WHHEEEEE you ever heard. Then another pop, whistle, then another.

Shit.

I turned around to ask my husband what I should do (like there’s much I COULD do at that point), and he’s not there. In fact, he has taken his box of missiles and headed back to the house, where he’s hovering just at the door, in case anyone starts coming out looking like they’re going to call the cops. I don’t feel like I can just leave, with this thing sending up anti-aircraft from the middle of the street where anyone could run over it, so I have to stand there, while all 20 of those things, one after another, launch with a bang and a whistle. Meanwhile, SOMEONE is up on the porch practically peeing his pants with laughter at the fact that I’m about to set someone’s roof on fire or get arrested.

As soon as it was over, I grabbed the box and hustled inside. No one ever said anything, but I think we threw the other one away. I’m sticking to sparklers from now on. Oh, wait - I have a story about them too.